


One Step Away From Crashing To My Knees

by VampireValentine



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Confrontations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireValentine/pseuds/VampireValentine
Summary: Andrew isn’t good at keeping secrets. Buffy finds out about Spike and immediately comes to see him in LA. Heartfelt talks and dredging of the past ensues. Choices are made. Lines are drawn. Plus wacky vampire antics of all kinds!Goes AU after Damage.
Relationships: Angel/Buffy Summers (mentioned), Spike/Angel (mentioned), Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Vampires? Again?

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title references the song playing in The Bronze the first time Spike sees Buffy. I’m a sucker for first impressions. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, feedback is appreciated!

“Vampires? Again?” Angel sighs, exasperated. 

Wesley pinches the bridge of his nose and tosses a curling scroll onto the conference table. 

“Well, yes. It seems that there’s a… convergence of some kind this weekend. Which is odd, because LA isn’t even on a hell mouth…” He trails off. 

Fred crosses her arms, looking like she’d rather be in the lab. They’re tired. They’re all tired. The past few weeks have been a wealth of vampire attacks, vampire gangs, vampire siring sprees. After the second vampire followed Fred home, it was clear these events weren’t unrelated. So here they were, on a Friday evening, mulling over any foretellings of a vampire invasion in LA. 

“Just like the old days, innit?” comes a deep and snarky voice. 

Spike pushes himself off the doorframe and swaggers into Angel’s office, hips swinging seductively. 

Why did he always have to do that? Thinks Angel, exasperated, He wonders if Spike even knows, or if sexy is just a part of his dead DNA. 

“Don’t think we need any more morally bankrupt vampires here, Spike.” he growls, real, unreasonable anger tinging his words. “If you don’t look out, these new guys are gonna run you out of business.” 

Spike’s presence drones like a fly in his ear. If this were 1850 and London, he’d have launched himself over the desk and slammed his grand childe against the wall for his interruption. If it wasn’t for this… law office from hell (and his ever present coworkers), he’d have had Spike on the floor more than once. Not like that Angel, Jeez! If his heart beat he would have blushed. God, Spike hasn't said ten words and he’s already thrown Angel. Always did have that talent. 

Spike scoffs, disrupting Angel’s spiraling thoughts. 

“Look, Deadboy, I know how much you enjoy sulking about Vampire Scourge and all that, but look what I found.” 

His lips purse in that obnoxious, know it all, I’m tough and you're not pout. He reaches into the depths of his leather duster and dangles a chain of some sort from his fingers. 

When did Spike start painting his nails again? Angel wonders absently. 

Gunn leans forward in his chair to get a better look, but not before the alarm starts to howl.


	2. Buffy

“Buffy.” says Angel. Despites his best efforts, it sounds small, strangled and desperate, but Buffy isn’t looking at him. Not at all. 

“Buffy,” says Wesley.

“Buffy?” chorus Gunn and Fred.

“Buffy,” Spike says, low, breathy, husky. His eyes flash confusion, then awe, then deep, heavy realization. Buffy’s eyes have locked on him like they're the only two in the world, and she steps forward. 

She hasn’t spoken yet and Spike would be nervous by that look she gets when she’s stalking a vamp if he wasn't seriously considering kissing her right now until she slaps him with all her slayer strength. 

Pain explodes across his cheek as he doubles over and tastes blood. His ears ring, and oh, Buffy isn’t silent now. 

“I had to hear from Andrew. ANDREW?” 

Across the room, Angel can see she is shaking with rage.

“How long, Spike. HOW LONG? How long did you let me think you were dead?”

Spike winces and looks up at her, and suddenly he is very, very afraid. 

“You selfish idiot,” she seethes, spitting each word deliberately. 

Angel wonders if she ever screamed like that after he was trapped in a hell dimension. He is viscerally reminded that time has passed. That high school's over. 

“I say I love you and you leave me like this? What, you come back to life and suddenly I’m not good enough for you?” Her tone breaks into desperation. 

“Spike, we always- we always come for each other. You were always gonna come for me.” 

Spike’s horror grows when he sees tears are brimming in her eyes.

“Buffy, no-” 

“I am SPEAKING!” she yells, voice cracking, and then she’s kissing him. 

The ache in his jaw fades and his bleeding, injured love for her triumphantly rears its head, alive, after he left if bludgeoned and dying on the floor of his heart when he ripped up his boat ticket to her and tossed the pieces into the sea.

The inadequacy he had felt then, the fear, it’s all far away. He wonders how he could have ever been that stupid because he can feel Buffy’s love like no time has passed. 

He grabs her, proves she’s real. She grabs fistfuls of his leather coat. She’s mumbling “alive, you’re alive, safe.” over and over again when they break apart. 

Her eyes don’t leave him as they stand there, and horrible guilt is crashing over him in ways it hasn’t since his reenosulemnt. It intensifies when Buffy asks softly, “are you okay?” 

Is he okay? Words lose all meaning. She’s here. Vaguely, he’s aware he’s staring like a fool. Just add it to the list of unforgivable acts.

Buffy is going to allow the awestruck stare for now. They can fight and question and talk later, but for she’s missed their shared silences. She’s missed the devotion in his face. Oh, I’m never gonna let him go, she thinks. 

Angel coughs, feeling small. Neither of them break their spell, and his stomach drops when he knows, finally, that it's true. That Spike is Shanshu bound, the hero, the lover, and he is just a sad tale, a lonely cause, a handful of anecdotes littered through supernatural history. 

He coughs again, because someone has to do something. At least it's still his law office. Not if Buffy did as much damage as the assistant said, he reminds himself, suppressing dread. 

This time, Buffy breaks away, straightens the collar of her coat, runs her hands through her perfect hair. She’s still standing like a fighter. 

Angel should have prepared himself for this moment. Andrew did warn him that Buffy was wary of his… new position. He doubted he would have been left alone for too long, but maybe the fear of his heart cracking even more was too much to consider. He hadn’t planned for any of this. Like so many times before, he finds himself speechless when confronted with her. 

Buffy’s voice is cold when she addresses him. 

“And I assume you knew.” It’s not a question.

“I..” there’s no good way to answer this, even though he knows it's too late to come out looking better than Spike. Buffy’’s eyes have already slid over him, and it's clear she's just tired. Of him. Dealing with him. 

“Hey. Sorry about the mess. Downstairs isn’t much better, I sorta came on short notice,” she says to the frozen three, who haven’t spoken. 

Wesley slowly nods, and Fred and Gunn look a little like Spike, dumbstruck and awed. 

“I’ll deal with you later, Angel,” she says dully and businesslike to him. Angel can’t move.   
Buffy turns back to Spike, and for just them, the world is brighter again. Meets his eyes, takes his hand. Her face is serious, but her lips can’t help but quirk into a half smile. God, she loves him too much for this. 

“You and I are gonna talk.”


	3. Damages

Angel’s instinct is to shut the doors, but they’ve been recently decimated by the love of his life. 

Thankfully, Fred speaks before Angel breaks the silence with the first dumb thing he can think of, which is “that’s Buffy.”

“So…. that’s The Slayer?” Fred says. “Well, not the only one anymore but you know.. The The One.” 

Wesley fills in the silence that was supposed to be Angel’s reaction. “Yes, that’s her. She’s, ah, not that different than the last time we met.” 

Angel snaps his gaze to him, and he backtracks. 

“Well, obviously without being in love with Spike. Not that she's in love with Spike.… I’ll stop talking now.” 

Angel can’t be here anymore. 

“We should go see what happened to the first floor. I have a feeling it’s not insignificant.”

Downstairs is worse. Some immediate sights: shattered doors. Broken windows. Blood- demon and human- unconscious security guards. A vase of flowers is smashed. Since when did Wolfram and Hart have a florist? 

He wonders if Buffy brought her worst to spite him, or maybe she didn't trust him enough to call. Thought he’d hide Spike away from her which isn’t fair, because he had no problem with Spike leaving! None at all! It was Spike’s stupid idea to haunt his workplace and then steal his destiny and his job and his girl. 

He kicks half a broken desk across the lobby, and he can feel his friends staring. He wants to yell. Wants to throw up his arms, say, that's right, look at the big, pathetic, washed up vampire. 

He does none of that. He never does anything. Is that why Buffy stopped lov- He stops that train of thought as soon as it begins. Heart. Cracks. All that. 

Ever the peacemaker, Fred tries to comfort him, which is somehow worse. 

“She was just upset and worried.” She pauses. “Uh oh, really upset,” she gasps, noticing a pile of vamp dust next to reception, something that was not spared on the Buffy warpath. 

“Harmony?” 

Wesley peers over her shoulder. “Oh no…. Harmony...” 

Strangely, Angel feels like crying. His only vampire friend. A tie to Sunnydale. She’s gone. If he cries now, he doesn't think he’ll stop, so he focuses very hard on a piece of glass by his boot. They stand silent for a moment. 

“Do we… call anyone?” Angel says, choked. 

He’s wondering if its stupid to have a funeral for a dust pile when a flash of blonde springs up frm behind a chunk of the reception desk. 

“Ah HA! You would be sad if I got dusted!” Harmony says triumphantly. 

“Harmony? You’re okay?” Says Fred as Angel rolls his eyes, pretending he’s not relieved. Of course. Today really is not his day. 

“Yeah,” she says, dusting herself off and removing her broken high heel. “No thanks to that psycho slayer. You know I almost killed her once?” 

“Angel,” says a voice next to him. It’s Wesley. 

“Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” He is, he really is, because ever since Buffy looked at him like he was nothing his brain has kind of exited his body. He’s floating. 

Wesley lingers. “I know this can’t be easy for you… seeing Buffy with-”

“Wes, I’m fine. She needed to see him. I’ll talk to her later,” he says, regurgitating some generic responses. 

He can’t look Wesley in the face. While the rest of the gang begins to clean up and lawyers start popping out of closets and corners, he thinks about running after them. His boy. His girl. 

Instead, like always, he makes his way upstairs to be alone.


	4. In which the past is revealed and tomato plants are destroyed

Spike’s chest hurts when he sees the demolished lobby, and not because he had any love for ceiling height windows and tacky rugs. 

Buffy did this for him. The torn rug and bloodstains are evidence of her fervor, her desperation. Spike’s still unsure if she’s going to hit him again. Wish she would, so he can take all the wrong and put it on his shoulders. It would be simpler, and for a wistful moment he remembers fist fights and sloppy kisses, but it hasn’t been that way with them for a while. 

He’s catching himself up on the fact that wow, Buffy is here and for him and his brain is running in directions of romance and nerves and lust and then he’s thinking did you see Angel’s bloody face?! Buffy hardly looked at him, the stuttering idiot! Buffy’s here and Angel’s the kicked dog and Spike can’t control his glee. 

“You came for me,” he bursts out. Buffy’s hand hasn't left his. 

“I always come for you,” and it's true, but she says it with aching. Like an accusation. 

Spike suddenly can't remember why he thought staying was a good idea. LA seems strange and unfamiliar again, like a broken oath. His broken oath. 

Spike wants to give her the night of her life to make up for every mistake, to do something about the horrible guilt. Harmony had been right. It didn't matter at all, the pain, the angst, the big swooping bow at curtain call. He’d been a fool. Again. 

Outside, the sun has just set and the sky is dark orange, and he and Buffy are bathed in the dying light. Dead enough that it doesn't burn. 

“I missed you, Spike,” breathes Buffy, and she kisses him again, in the bustle of commuters and tourists. 

This must be a dream. Spike has been waiting for the day of their public love. No longer a love that’s killing them, even if that’s what he claimed to have wanted in the past. 

He still fears the word, love, it’s been too delicate for too long. Not sure if she’s ready yet. But here, Spike feels like he could die happy again. 

Spike takes her to a rooftop garden to talk. No more dark alleyways or graves (at least not for now. Spike never had anything against a good crypt). 

“I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing he can think of to say, standing across from her on the roof, next to someone’s wilting tomato patch. 

Buffy sighs, exasperated. She’s tired in more ways than one, he can see, but there's a pain that's missing. That perpetual Slayer torment. He wants to ask her about it, but there’s time for that later. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Spike…. I- I mourned you. You have no idea what it was like. And now I find out you're in LA, with Angel, no less, and neither you nor he could be bothered to tell me?” she almost scoffs Angel’s name. 

“You don’t get to decide something like that,” her words bitter. 

Spike kicks the gravel with his boots. Yeah, being around Angel has not been good for his ego. Getting all high and mighty like the brooding good guy himself…. Not good at all. She’s right, like always.

“It.. it’s been about five months since I came back.” 

His speech was never this halting and unsure before, and he’s amazed at his own obtuseness. He used to be the smoothest vamp in the underworld. 

“Five-!” Buffy exclaims. 

“Luv, let me- can we just-” 

He flounders. He needs to explain. Needs her to know he’s still desperately in love with her and not a minute passed when she wasn’t on his mind. He wonders why it’s so hard to be honest, to get the words out. Even when Buffy is right in front of him, he feels close to losing her. It’s worse than burning alive. Did Angel ever feel like this? He feels dangerously close to slipping, to losing it all again. 

Buffy hasn’t stopped for a single moment since Andrew mentioned that Spike was alive. 

He had let it slip, eyes going wide, and it hadn't taken much threatening to get him to tell her that Spike was in LA, concealing his new life. She’d heard the words Spike and LA and suddenly all she could think was Hellmouth and California and then went into autopilot. The old instincts kicked in. 

She’d stormed out of Rome without notice, Dawn still at school, and got on the next plane to her home state. To her love. A one track mind for the past ten hours. 

Now that she has him, is sure he’s solid, she can finally pause. Really look at him. His body is hunched, tense, like he’s been coiled for years. He’s tired, and it’s an exhaustion that seems persistent. She is so tired of seeing him hurt. 

“Okay. go on,” she says, stepping back. She loves his voice, anyway. 

“I was in the amulet, somehow,” Spike begins, rocking on his heels, eyes flashing up to the sky.

“When I burned up, my soul was kept in there. And somehow it ended up at Angel's office. Poof, there I was, like not a second had passed since the hellmouth.” He shudders for a second, remembering the flames, his body dissolving. 

“My first thought was about you.” He pauses. 

“One problem, though: non corporeal.” he waves his hand in front of his face, chipped nailpolish reflecting the glowing city and stars dim with light pollution. 

“Total ghost, doomed to haunt your ex’s evil law office, feeling the pull of hell. Fadin’ away, as it were.”

“Didn’t… couldn’t you have Angel call?” Buffy asks, lost, and feels a pit opening up in her stomach when Spike mentions hell. 

Nothing feels fair, like maybe the world has spun off its axis and the moon is ready to fall into the sea. Hell. Spike. Angel. Lies. 

To her, Angel has always been the protector. Always someone to fall back on, her comfort. She can’t conceive of him lying to her in this way, although it's not unprecedented. 

“He wouldn’t tell me where you were. Wouldn’t pick up the bloody phone, you know he hates me. Everyday I plotted- the instant I become flesh and blood again, I’m off to overturn Europe looking for you. I only had your continent.”

Buffy looks horrified but also sort of pleased. 

She suppresses her building rage at Angel- Spike is more important right now- and focuses on questioning him. Holds back, not ready to forgive just yet.

“So, what happened? You're clearly alive… well, undead, now, so what’s the hold up?” 

She raises her eyebrows, not having to try too hard to bring anger to the surface, and Spike is momentarily distracted by how much he loves her face. 

“I bought a boat ticket and everything. I was on my way,” he says forcefully, then takes an unnecessary breath.

“But there’s something that Angel said to me, when we were having a fight to the death over this vampire destiny thing, made me stop and think. And god knows i've never done that before, but I thought...” 

He pauses, and he’s choking up. He stares at the sky just so he can get the words out. God, Buffy can't stand it. 

“I thought you wouldn't... want me. To see me or anything. That you didn’t really... that love was just something you said because I was dying. If I showed up…. You’d have moved on. I’d be in the way, you’d think me less for coming back. I didn’t want you to look at me like that, not ever. So I stayed, where at least there’s some work to be done.” 

Spike looks up, and to his horror, Buffy is crying silently. Just tear tracks slowly running out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh god, Buffy, I’m so sorry. I was a bloody fool, I was wrong, I got caught up. Please, please don’t.” 

She cuts his ramblings short. 

“Spike, I’m sorry.” 

Spike stops dead still. Wait what? He thinks maybe he’s hallucinating. “I never should have waited to tell you. 

“You deserved to know sooner,” she continues, voice heavy with regret. Buffy has refused to take the blame in all her years knowing Spike, and she won’t start now, but this is something different. 

Though Spike’s had a second to stitch some of his pride back together the time he’s had alone, deep down he knows it’s wrong for her to cry over him, no matter how badly he wants it.

“Hey, hey look at me, pet.” He caresses her face, thumbing her tears away.   
“I knew. At that moment, I really knew. I did know, Buffy. I’ve never doubted you, I swear, you’re-” 

''I love you,” says Buffy, softly. 

Stops the words in Spike’s throat, stops his brain. 

“I love you and I mean it.”

Spike thinks his brain is short circuiting.

Buffy can’t suppress a sad smile at that familiar disbelieving gasp, the way his eyes light up when someone is kind to him. 

“Buffy, he whispers, helplessly, “I love you.” 

For what else is there to say? They melt into a kiss, the moon, still orbiting above, and Spike is the happiest creature on earth. 

As the hours pass, Buffy doesn’t want to do much but hold him close and talk. “I need to hear your voice, okay?” she says. 

This is after she tells him about the dreams she had for the past few months. Dreamt about them holding each other. He’d whisper I love you and she’d get to say it back over and over. Waking up was like him dusting all over again. She hadn't woken from a nightmare screaming in years, but something about a shattered heart made it easier.

She recalls waking up for her dream and accidentally elbowing the snoozing woman next to her on their flight, sending peanuts scattering down the aisle. 

“My first plane ride, and I was a menace,” she is able to laugh about it now. “When I shouted “Spike” I thought they were gonna arrest me on the spot for igniting, I don't know, plane panic.” 

Her smile fades as she tells him about every day feeling heavy. How little thing reminded her of him. How she bought cigarettes just to put on her bedside, just to light them like incense. A house becomes home when it's drenched in memories and smoke. 

After every phrase, Spike pulls her warm body closer to his, repeating every tiny detail in his mind to prove he’s worth something to her. It’s an old habit from even before they were sleeping together, and he's never quite brought himself to quit it. 

“Spike.” Buffy says, just to say his name. She’s been rehearsing these words in her mind for hours, making sure she gets it right. 

“I want you to know... I did save you. Not when it counted, of course, but ... after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again ... do something different. I was faster. I had thought to bring you a blanket. Ripped the amulet off your chest when it was clear the hellmouth was falling. Dozens of times, in a million different ways ... Every night I save you.” 

Spike gets chills as she speaks, and it’s not just because her pain is bleeding through the words. He recognizes his words to her so long ago after she crawled out of her grave.

“Seems like we keep missing each other,” he muses.  
Buffy’s fiery intensity is palpable when she says,“Never again. This time, I’m keeping you.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes, and the world feels right. He’s catching up on the emptiness in his heart, soaking her up.

Their sweet affirmations, declarations of love, fade in and out as the hours pass. 

Spike kisses the back of her neck and Buffy nestles into his shoulder. Spike feels like his heart might beat again and Buffy feels like there isn't a part of her missing for the first time in months. 

Buffy gives him the low down of her life post- Sunnydale.

“We moved to Rome. We’re working on finding all the new slayers, getting them trained. We have bases all over the world. The fight has only just begun, but- for the first time it doesn't feel hopeless.” 

Spike smiles to himself, understanding now the lightness of her step. 

“What you did- it was amazing, Buffy. I wish… I wish I could have seen what happened after.” 

Buffy lifts her head from his chest, looks into his eyes. 

“You could,” she says, softly. “That's an invitation, luv?” he questions, half teasing, half hopeful. 

“More like a demand,” she says firmly. 

Spike knows she’s not kidding. To feel needed, beloved, even, for the first time in so long- it’s intoxicating. Buffy never had to do much to put him under her spell. 

“Suppose I could stomach going back to Europe,” he grins, and pulls her into a kiss. 

The rest of the night, Spike tells her about demon hunting, the big city. He leaves out the part about his basement apartment, but he does describe how the law office makes him shiver something terrible. How the loneliness was eating him from the inside, but all he could do was bristle in his leather coat to hide the weakness. 

“With Angel around…. Always judging me… couldn’t let my guard down. I’ve been on my toes since they pulled me out of the envelope.” 

Buffy munches on the last cookie. “I never got the full story of you and Angel. I always sensed that there was… more.” 

“Well, yeah, your sweetheart wouldn’t want to ruin his reputation,” he scoffs. 

Buffy is still, contemplating. Balancing Spike and Angel is something she hasnt had to do much, and she’s grateful for it, but now it’s become unavoidable. 

“Me and Angel… we were a long time ago, you know. We keep acting like it will always be us in the end, but maybe that was just an excuse to keep this distance between us. I didn’t come to LA after hellmouth.” 

For the first time in a long time, Buffy thinks practically about Angel. She loved the brooding man, byronic hero, for so long. He seems so old now. So frigid, unknowable. The danger of loving a man so dark and cautious. Spike, on the other hand…. Heart on his sleeve. Full of mistakes. Loud and passionate, moves like standing still make him a corpse so he doesn't dare. God, she loves the way he moves. So sure of every motion, swift and cocky. His face. His eyebrows. His puckering cheekbones. 

Angel’s flat face stares down at her like a shark, like a judge and jury. Without a soul, Angel’s a monster. Regardless of soul, Spike is hers. Spike is her choice and not a star written tragedy. 

When she thinks of Angel she thinks of morose inevitability. Spike is excitement and endless passion. He’s certain dedication. 

Would Angel die for her? Buffy wonders. Not that it’s a fair standard by which to measure her men, but she will anyway. 

“Where’d you go, luv?” asks Spike. 

Even when it’s just them, Angel takes up space. 

“Just thinking. About you. Who you are and who you choose to be. Thinking about choice, and how you are one. A choice, I mean. Mine. How I feel when I’m with you. How I’ve never met anyone more full of life than you.”  
“Buffy,” he says fast and heavy, overcome, and that word is all she needs. 

She hears that he’ll go to Rome with her. Help her run her slayer kingdom. Fight evil. Cook dinner. Talk interior decorating. Her life feels close to complete. Her deliriously happy ending. Last year, she wouldn't have trusted this, but now…. 

“Buffy, there's nothing I can say that you don't already know. I’m a man with my heart on my sleeve, it’s my nature. The only thing I can say…. I’ll never leave you again.” 

Two years ago, that would have sounded like a threat. Now, it’s all she wants to hear. 

Resting her head back on his chest, she says, “I’m going to kill Angel.” 

Spike scoffs. “A stake should do the trick.” He wonders if he’d try to stop her if she was set on it. 

Buffy slaps his arm playfully. “No, I can’t stake my ex. That’s a little too psycho girlfriend, even for me.” 

She sighs. “But I’m not leaving LA without giving him a piece of my mind. And uh. Checking that he’s not evil. Because of, you know. The fact he works for the law firm of evil. Speaking of which…. You notice anything about that? Seems like you two are….” she trails off. 

Spike doesn't want business talk to start. Once it does, it’ll mean getting up, making plans that do not involve wine and plane tickets and kissing and maybe something more- Spike stops himself. He won’t ravish his lover on top of an LA roof. I mean. Maybe later. But right now, he answers her. 

“Don’t think he’s sprouted horns and drinking baby’s blood, if that's what you mean. He might even feel bad about his cushy office, with his perpetual guilt and all that. That’s not to say he hasn’t let a lot of things slide…. Like not killing his clients on sight. Nothing stakeable, though… unless he really pisses you off.”

Buffy snorts. “We’re well past that. It’s just…. You know. I can’t.” 

And it kills Spike to admit it but she loves Angel. It’s tragic and useless and for a second he’s enraged that he’d dare taint her future relationships with his brooding shadow, but who cares about him, really? 

If he wraps Buffy up in his arms, the world will be just them again. 

“Yeah.” Spike says instead. Because he gets it. He remembers being a young vampire, awestruck by Angelus, letting himself burn just to please him. Learning what it was to be a demon.

“When I was William the Bloody, it was the same way,” he blurts out. 

Buffy freezes. Uh oh, why did he think that discussing shared history was a good idea? 

“Uh… it’s… nevermind. It’s a vampire thing. Don’t. It’s fine.” 

It’s not fine. It’s been centuries of not talking about Angelus. About Angel. Who’d be there to listen? Spike doesn't want to admit it, but being with him in LA has been stirring something ugly. He’s angry all the time, on guard, like a young dog with something to prove. 

Buffy’s not letting it go, though. “Spike. What do you mean.”

It’s half curiosity, half fear. Learning about what Angel… Angelus, was like with Spike… she might not be able to look her highschool sweetheart in the face again. 

Spike feels compelled to explain, and not just by Buffy. 

“We traveled together for a hundred years, Buffy. As demons, not men. And Angel… he was the most vicious demon of them all. 

You think you’ve met Angelus: try him when it’s 1880 and he’s filling up a church with bodies. He was in it for the kill, the pain. 

He wanted me to be like him, and that made me want it too. But I never cared about the suffering. Just the chaos, the burning, the wild, wild night. Cared about Dru, for one. He used to…” 

Spike swallows, but he’s on a roll, and the horrible truths he’s been keeping inside for a hundred years want out. 

“He used to make me lie down on a cross to prove I was a demon. That there was evil in me, that it was me. He liked it when I suffered. 

I... he called me his grandchilde. When I was young, I needed to learn. It’s true.” 

He says it like he’s comforting himself.

“When I was bad, he beat me. One time, when I drank a few too many maidens and the townspeople ran us out, Angelus beat me so bloody I couldn't move for two days. Didn’t let Dru come to my side, either. He… he took her away because I loved her, not because he cared.” 

Spike feels disgusted with himself, for Angel, and still he can’t stop. The words come rushing out. 

“He was better, stronger as Angelus, and he knew it. He liked travelling with a man. He asked me once if I thought he was a deviant. 

We burned out flesh together and we werent equals. Made him feel strong. He liked making me like him, and when I failed, he liked to hurt me. 

I acted out. Drank a lot. Loved Drusilla like it meant something to him. He… more than once, I mean.” 

Spike is trying to say something he can’t, something that William won’t let him. There’s terrible joy in his pain and the pain he loved too much is breaking open his memories like it's broken his body for decades. 

“It wasn’t always bad.” For some reason, it’s important to him that Buffy knows about the joy of prowling the streets, of being him. 

“We stole and we looted and we owned the world. We laughed like no one else. We plotted in the darkness and we made the earth ours. 

But I was always less than him. And Angel pretends it never even happened, unless it’s to. You know, hurt me. 

Liked my poetry, though,” he says, half laughing, at the end. 

By the end, he’s forgotten Buffy is even there. 

He stands up, pushes her off, paces to the edge of the roof, feeling wild. He’s shaking, he’s angry and he’s cold. It’s the bloody poetry comment that’s done him in. 

The Angelus in his mind reaches inside him still, telling him he could fly, jump off the roof. Howl the way down, love the blood in his mouth on the pavement. 

He remembers every time Angel beat him. Every time Angelus bit his neck or kissed Dru or knocked him down the stairs or chained him up but made him love it and beg for more. 

Sometimes it was gentle because a demon isn't always a demon. Licked him sensually and twisted a piece of him deep inside Spike. 

Spike’s been pulling shards out for as long as he can remember, and there’s some he’ll always keep. He gets an urge to break his fist against some bricks and that feeling hasn't happened for a while. 

His head is swimming and chest is tight, he wonders if this is a panic attack. 

When Buffy touches his arm, he flinches, stalks away. 

When holding himself together the elbows still doesn't work, he deals a devastating kick to the potted tomato plants, spilling soil across the roof. He thinks if someone touches him right now, he’ll become his demon and never stop roaring. 

“Stop,” he chokes. 

He doesn't know what he wants. He needs to get out of England. He needs to kill something. He needs to attack Angel and make him feel. He needs a drink. His wish for pain disgusts him but he needs it. He misses when Buffy would hit him and he’s so out of control he would ask for it now and ruin everything. Why can't he ever have what he wants?

“Spike, you need to breathe,” says Buffy, at his side, suddenly. She’s not joking but it almost makes Spike hysterical. 

“Breathe, right, like I need-”

“Shut up and do it. I need you to calm down.” 

He can smell her distress, her orders. Right. He shuts up and breathes. 

The London smog clears as he focuses on inhaling. Not London. He’s in LA. He’s with Buffy. He’s Spike. He’s a person. He’s been a person. Buffy’s here. 

Buffy, who is staring at him. She’s seen him lose control before, seen him crazy, seen him angry and desolate. Never trapped in memory like this. Never when it's Angel. God, he’s so unfair to her. It’s not up to him to ruin Angel for her. When has he ever had the right to do more than brush up against her life? 

Spike feels self hatred well up, he’s worked so hard to keep it away, to grow something in him that’s not someone else. In the back of his mind, guilt gnaws at him for derailing their perfect evening. 

“Spike, it’s okay. You’re here with me. Angelus isn’t here. You’re safe.” Her voice is strong and soothing, echoing her school counselor days. He’s been weak too many times in front of her. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. Says that too much, too. 

“No. No, no. This is important,” says Buffy. She’s talking to herself, almost. 

“This… this is your life.” He can feel the desolation in her voice. 

He wishes he could take it all back. Angel, again, ruins him. In a low voice he says, (because it's true) 

“You know, I hate Angel more than Angelus. He gets to sit in his soft life. Gets the girl, the prophecies, the glory. He’s just too coward to take it. He tortures himself with guilt, but it's never me. It’s never for me. Angelus… at least he cared enough to hurt me.” 

Buffy wants to beg forgiveness for every time she’s beaten him without cause. Every time she hurt him beyond repair during sex. For the times she made him like it. 

She knows it’s different, really, because at least with her and Spike there was something like love. 

She wonders if that makes it worse. 

Wonders how much of Angelus is in Spike, and how much Spike has killed Angelus in himself a hundred times over. She is acutely aware that inside Spike it’s scar tissue sometimes and he’s been tearing himself up for years. What can she even say to someone who’s been in pain for this long. To the man she loves. She might throw up, she feels so inadequate. 

Above, the stars are fading. As Spike falls back into himself, there is burning shame and disappointment but also a release of sorts. He hasn't felt this free since beating the principal in his shed, after turning off the trigger. A little less triumphant now, but at least it's something. 

Buffy slowly reaches out her hand to his, careful not to startle him. Careful to make it gentle. 

“I didn’t know. Any of it.” she says. 

It never crossed her mind to question Angel about his soulless days, or maybe she was just afraid to.

He shrugs. “Nothing abnormal for a vampire crew.”

“Maybe. Doesn't mean it stops hurting.” She knows something about Angelus and hurts, how logic never quite makes things feel better.

“No,” Spike agrees softly, and Buffy’s heart breaks a little more.

“I’m okay, pet. Just needed to say my piece.” 

He isn’t lying. He does feel better. Not better than when he kicked Angel’s ass in the dilapidated opera house a few weeks ago, but words always were a comfort to him.

“No one’s ever gonna hurt you again,” Buffy whispers fiercely. 

“And besides, you’re wrong about one thing,” she says. “Angel doesn't get the girl.” 

Buffy feels like she’s finally telling the truth. It’s a pale statement to make next to his painful confessions, but for Spike it’s enough. 

Spike makes the effort to focus on her eyes, to let her know how much it means. The past is old. He can handle it. 

“It’s almost dawn,” whispers Buffy. 

In the corner of their eyes, the sky is lightening. 

“Back to work, I suppose,” replies Spike, voice husky.

Buffy pouts. “Do we have to? It’s Saturday.” and Spike swears he can feel his chest flutter.

“I think so, luv. We have a bit of a vampire problem on our hands.”

“Really? Well, that is my specialty. Slayer Buffy, reporting for duty.”

They share a grin.

“Come on. We should get off this roof before you fry.”

“Ready to go back to the office?”

Buffy exhales slowly. Office means business. It means Angel. Talking with Angel. 

Memories, not all hers, overlapping with the presence of the man she can’t help but keep in her heart, even still. 

“Sure. Yep. I can be slay-gal. No problem.”

She almost convinces them both.


	5. The Past is Gonna Come Back to Bite Ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Buffy finally have that talk.

Spike can sense Buffy’s nerves as they head back to the office. It has nothing to do with slayage and everything to do with the aura of conspiracy wafting off of Wolfram and Hart, and the promise of Angel, the big brooding rectangle. When they enter the lobby, it’s bustling again. No evidence of Buffy’s destruction remains. Benefits of evil cleanup, Spike guesses. 

“Vampires, you say?” says Buffy. “Why don’t I start here?” Her pose is rigid, and her hands twitch for a stake. 

Spike has half a mind to let her massacre the demonic lawyers and vampire security, but instead he says “His office is there. Let’s go before you kill any of his racquetball buddies.”   
“Racquetball?” she asks, half derision and half disbelief.   
Spike raises his eyebrows at her. “Racquetball.” 

Buffy pauses at the door, noticing Spike hanging back. “You coming?”

“Nah. I should go find Wes the Book Boy. I’ve got something that’s gonna help with the vamps.” The artifact he’s been about to show off before Buffy’s arrival grows heavy in his pocket.

It could wait. He just doesn't want to look at Angel right now. He feels like he wants to destroy something, like he wants to punch Angel’s teeth in. That's not new, but it’s not flattering in Buffy’s eyes. Being inside the office feels oppressive, like the walls are inching in. He suppresses the urge to bristle like a feline and sucks the inside of his cheeks. 

“Okay. Call me if you have anything.” Right. All business. 

Buffy doesn't knock on Angel’s door but refrains from splintering it this time. That’s restraint, right? See, I can be patient, she lies to herself. 

Angel spins around in his chair like he’s been staring at the mounted weapons on the wall behind him for hours. “Buffy. Hi.” He has been staring at the wall for hours. He couldn’t sleep, hence the brooding. He shakes off the stupor, anticipation rising when he notices that they are finally alone. 

Buffy crosses her arms, trying to focus. Vampire gangs. Terror of Los Angeles. Destiny and all that. Angel’s cold eyes. Spike. His angry gaze and clenched fists.   
No! Bad Buffy, she scolds herself. It’s time to be Slay Gal, right?

Looking too closely at Angel will only make this harder. For some reason, Buffy doesn't want him to see her eyes. To see that she’s fallen through his fingers. Cookie dough’s well past baked. 

“Heard you have a vampire problem. What's the sitch?” 

Angel rises out of his chair hesitantly, like the energy in the room is delicate. He wants to grasp her shoulders, embrace her, ask her about Rome. Whatever the hell she’s been doing. 

“Yeah. We’re experiencing...a convergence of some kind, but none of our books describe anything like it. And our channels have been completely silent on this.”

“Your channels?” Buffy’s eyebrows raise. She wonders what would happen if she started smashing windows again. How the hell is Angel standing in front of them in the sunlight, anyway? More freaky vamp magic, she guesses. She doesn't like it. 

“Wolfram and Hart has its… resources,” Angel responds lamely, trying to ignore her derisive tone, the clunky barrier between them. That’s all he ever does. Ignore. Christ, can’t they just fight like it’s highschool already?

Buffy curtly nods, and looks away. 

“Next suspected target? I can go out tonight. Today, even, see if I can shed a little sunlight on their hideout. If they have one. Plus, I think Spike's working on a solution with Wes, upstairs. He’s working here too, huh?”

“How was last night. For you, I mean. You alright?”

“What’s our next move, Angel.”

“Buffy, are we gonna-”

“Angel.” She snaps, but these are the first words that sound angry instead of empty. He hates himself for his excitement. 

“We are not doing this right now.”

“Then when, Buffy? You save the world and you skip town? You’re living in Rome? I’ve got questions too, you know,” he says, exasperated. 

“Wasn’t much town left to skip out on,” she mutters. “Look, Angel, you want to talk? Start by explaining yourself. No phone call. No heads up that you're working for Doom Incorporated, No “hey, you’re boyfriend’s alive” call. Are you still even in this fight, Angel? You had no right to keep this from me.” 

“He’s your boyfriend now?” Angel snaps. He can feel himself losing the cowed attitude. 

“So not the point.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted space. Cookie dough, remember? I waited, and I’m waiting, but if you’re going to come here and-”

“What happened between you and Spike.” He’s not ready for the ice in her interrupting voice. 

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You mean as of this week? He stole my thermos and my car and killed a demon that I really needed to get some information out of.” Angel crosses his arms. Damn Spike and the way he gets under his skin. He hasn;t changed at all, he thinks viciously, and pretends like he’s not lying.

“Okay, awesome,” Buffy says, bitterly sarcastic. “And for the past one hundred years?” 

His stomach drops. Oh. 

“Buffy-” Her name gets stuck in his mouth. He can;t do this now. He seems to be thinking that a lot, lately. He muses on retiring for a millisecond before he remembers that you can't leave behind a life loaned to you on conditions. 

“Listen,” Buffy says, sounding strangely breathless and desperate. 

“I-I can’t keep walking around like this is normal. Like we are what we say we are. Like you’re this hero and Spike is….” She cuts herself off. 

“Did you hurt him?” Buffy already knows the answer.

“Yes.” Angel feels his mouth getting dry. 

The demon in him growls: it’s in his right to do whatever he wants with Spike. His childe. His enemy. The young upstart, the foolish and wild demon who’d gotten them into trouble too many times. The handsome man Angel loved to antagonize and push. William always pushed back.   
Occasional lover. Nights of blood and smoke, Spike’s toothy grin, fighting in the streets.  
Vivid memories of pounding his fists into William. Angelus’s hungry gleeful wrath. The times William showed his hurt, his betrayal, his fear, and how Angelus loved it. How Angel thought that he deserved it. How he buries the past deep inside of him, and how Spike can’t seem to do the same. 

Standing before the silent Buffy, he starts to feel something like shame. 

Buffy nods. Doesn't quite understand why vampire on vampire brutality is bothering her so much. They’re supposed to be depraved. Angel’s no different, she’s learned.

“Buffy, it’s complic-”

“Don’t tell me it’s complicated!” her scream betrays something deeper than dutiful outrage on Spike's behalf. He wonders what he told her. 

“God, Angel, it’s like you have a script. For every excuse. For Spike, when you left Sunnydale, when you didn’t call me-”

“I do what I have to,” he snarls. “You understand about responsibility, don’t you, Slayer?” His voice gets mean, he can’t help it. 

“Don’t you ever talk about responsibility to me.” She is fuming. Oh. This is real rage. At Angel.

A cough at the door. Buffy takes a step back, glances down, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Are we… interrupting?” Wesley says, in that concerned British voice of his. Behind him, Spike stands with his weight on his right leg, looking casually bored. 

“No,” says Angel quickly. “What do you got?” 

Wesley knows better than to ask. The pair of Englishmen stride in, and Spike saunters up to Angel’s desk. “Think we’ve cracked the code, Peaches.”

Without ceremony, Spike tosses a necklace on the desk.

Not a necklace. An amulet. Glittering seemingly on its own, just like the day not so long ago it was illuminated by flames, scorching out the mouth of hell with the power of the sun


End file.
